I See You(30)

He tells me he’s just round the corner, but half an hour passes and it’s obvious that wasn’t the case; I think guiltily of the fares he’s missing out on while he makes a mercy dash for me. The door to the police station swings open, and to my embarrassment I feel tears rolling down my cheeks as I see his familiar face.

‘You here for your missus?’ Derek says. I don’t have the energy to correct him and Matt doesn’t bother. ‘Double strength Lemsip and a drop of whisky, that’s what she needs. Hope you feel better soon, love.’

Matt settles me in the cab, like I’m a paying customer, and turns the heating up full blast. I focus on my breathing, trying to stop the violent shaking that seizes my entire body.

‘When did you start feeling like this?’

‘This morning. I thought it was odd I had a hangover – I didn’t drink that much last night – then my headache got worse and I started feeling shaky.’

‘Flu.’ He diagnoses me without hesitation. Like most cabbies, Matt is an expert in everything. He watches me in the rear-view mirror, his eyes flicking between me and the road ahead. ‘What were you doing at the cop shop?’

‘There was a murder last night. In a park close to Cranley Gardens.’

‘Crouch End?’

‘Yes. She was strangled.’ I tell him about the London Gazette adverts; about my own photo, then seeing Tania Beckett.

‘Are you sure it’s the same woman?’

I nod, although he has his eyes trained on the road ahead. He sucks his teeth, then spins the steering wheel decisively to the left, cutting through one-way streets so narrow I could reach through my window and touch the brick walls as we pass.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Traffic’s a nightmare. What did the police say?’

I look out at the street, trying to get my bearings, but I’m not sure where we are. Children are walking home from school; some on their own, others still clutching their mothers’ hands.

‘They called the detective inspector in charge of the case, but he didn’t come.’

‘Figures.’

‘I’m scared, Matt.’

He doesn’t say anything. He never was any good at handling emotions.

‘If it really was my photo in the paper, then something’s going to happen to me. Something bad.’ My throat feels scratchy; a hard lump preventing me from swallowing.

‘Do the police think there’s a link between the adverts and this murder?’

Finally we emerge from the warren of tiny streets, and I see the South Circular. We’re nearly home. My eyes are stinging so badly it hurts to keep them open. I blink rapidly in an attempt to find some moisture.

‘The desk officer seemed to take me seriously,’ I say. I’m finding it hard to concentrate on what he’s saying. ‘But I don’t know if the detective inspector will. I haven’t told him about my photo yet – I didn’t have a chance.’

‘This is weird shit, Zo.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that. I thought I was going nuts when I saw the picture. I think Simon still thinks I am.’

Matt looks at me sharply. ‘He doesn’t believe you?’

I could kick myself. As if Matt needs any more ammunition against Simon.

‘He thinks there’s a rational explanation.’

‘What do you think?’

I don’t answer. I think I’m going to be murdered.

We pull up outside my house and I open my handbag.

‘Let me give you some money.’

‘You’re all right.’

‘You shouldn’t be out of pocket, Matt, it isn’t fair—’

‘I don’t want your money, Zo,’ he snaps. ‘Put it away.’ His tone softens. ‘Here, I’ll help you inside.’

‘I can manage.’ But as I stand up my knees start to buckle and he catches me before I fall.

‘Sure you can.’

He takes my key and opens the front door, then hesitates.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Simon’s at work.’ I’m too ill to feel disloyal. I hang my handbag and coat over the banister and let Matt help me up the stairs. He pauses at the top, unsure where my bedroom is, and I point to the door next to Katie’s. ‘I’ll be fine, now,’ I tell him, but he takes no notice, opening the door and keeping hold of my arm as we shuffle into the bedroom together.

He pulls down the duvet on the left side of the bed. The side I used to sleep on when we were married. Now it’s Simon’s things on the table to the left; his book, a spare pair of reading glasses, a leather tray for his watch and pocket change. If Matt notices he doesn’t say anything.

I crawl into bed, fully clothed.

Simon wakes me. It’s dark outside and he turns on the bedside light. ‘You’ve been asleep since I got home. Are you ill?’ He’s whispering, one hand clamped around my mobile phone. ‘There’s a police officer on the phone. What’s going on? Has something happened?’ I’m hot and sticky, and when I lift my head from the pillow it aches. I reach for the phone but Simon holds it away. ‘Why are the police calling you?’

‘I’ll explain later.’ My voice disappears halfway through the last word and I cough to wake it up. Simon hands me my mobile and sits on the bed. I’m still feverish, but I feel better for having slept.